


Trousers of Transformation

by StormAnon



Series: A Storm Ashore [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, Magic Cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormAnon/pseuds/StormAnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hawke gets a magic cock and Isabela is not phased. (Flagrant kmeme PWP.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trousers of Transformation

It was generally understood by the staff at the Amell mansion that Isabela was free to come and go as she pleased, and Armand didn't even announce Isabela, just led her into the foyer with a bow and then disappeared off to wherever doormen go when there's no one at the door. Isabela tapped the last of the morning dew off her boots and walked into the main hall, just in time to see Hawke herself making her way down the stairs.

"Bela?" she greeted, surprised, stalling halfway down. "Um. Morning," she added, a little uncomfortably.

It was a strangely unwelcoming greeting, and there was something off about the way Hawke was holding herself... something in the hips, Isabela thought, and she canted her head and took a closer look at the region in question, and the unfamiliar clean but careworn blue trousers Hawke was wearing --

\-- and abruptly noticed a reaction to her presence that would have been the most familiar thing in the world, were it not on _Hawke_ of all impossible people.

Unlike most men, however, Hawke made no attempt to conceal or distract from the growing bulge in her trousers (a fairly appreciable one, if Isabela was any judge, which she definitely was). She just sighed heavily and wrapped her right hand almost completely around her face, eyes shuttering closed behind her fingers in weary resignation. The average guest would have bought her indifferent act completely -- Hawke's skin held a blush even less obviously than Isabela's, courtesy of its slight reddish undertone (Chasind, had been Hawke's brief explanation, with the same slight note of defensiveness that always flavored Merrill's discussion of blood magic) -- but Isabela knew Hawke pretty well, and was willing to bet that the woman was at least three kinds of embarrassed.

"My eyes are up here, Bela," she drawled, and her tone, at least, was openly wry.

"Morning, Hawke," she drawled right back. "Nice to see you're happy to see me."

Hawke slowly peeled her head up from behind her hand and slumped sideways against the banister. "The pants are a new purchase from the Emporium. 'Trousers of transformation,' which apparently doesn't mean quite what Xenon advertised. Really, I'm only glad I didn't buy the shirt and hood."

Isabela snickered. "You know, _I_ haven't got sick of the place, but I never thought you were this much of a glutton for punishment."

"We've gotten some really nice gear there," protested Hawke, all wounded puppy eyes.

"You mean like the mirror that gave Fenris and Varric beards? The ring that barked for an hour every night? The flute that summoned every roach and wood-beetle in a two-mile radius?"

"Be fair, that actually ended up being pretty useful," grinned Hawke.

"I'm just saying, Hawke. Pulling on strange magical pants sold by creepy mucus-y dead guys is never a good idea." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'd be careful of any pants, really."

Hawke shook her head, the edge of a laugh still quirking her lips. "Yes, I've surely learned my lesson. Now, if you wouldn't mind stepping aside, I need to make my way to Darktown and solicit a dispelling from everyone's favorite scruffy apostate."

Isabela drew herself up, affronted. "What! Why in the world would you do that?"

Hawke blinked at her. "Um. Why in the world wouldn't I?"

"You don't think the new look suits you, _Adrian_?" smirked Isabela.

That just earned her an eyeroll. "Yes, I'm sure my father is laughing himself stupid at the Maker's side right now, but my maliciously given name and tendency to wear my brother's shirts notwithstanding, I can't say having my fun bits on the outside really fits my self-image. I really have no idea what to do with this thing and don't care to. That's really more your sort of thing, remember?"

Isabela raised an eyebrow pointedly, lips curling, and purred, " _Exactly._ "

Hawke, having progressed exactly two more stairs down toward the hall, drew up short again. "You're not seriously suggesting -- _Maker_ , Bela," she protested, whole body suffused with what Isabela would, this time, have believed was genuine exasperation, were it not for the visible twitch in Hawke's new trousers as their occupant, having receded through the course of their conversation, made itself once again known.

Hawke dropped her hand into her face again. "Dammit."

Isabela laughed and swept up the stairs, trailing a hand along Hawke's chest as she passed her, and Hawke, still muttering patently insincere protests, followed her up to the balcony and into the hall. "This really isn't my thing, you know."

"Well, it's attached to you, who else's could it be?"

"Har har," said Hawke, failing to hide her amusement as badly as she was failing to hide her interest. "I don't _do_ this when the equipment doesn't match."

"Oh is _that_ your rule?" Isabela grinned, turning to sweep past Hawke again and head back out toward the manor's entrance. "I guess you were right, we _should_ go get Anders. I happen to know he's fond of a wick in his candle now and then, I'm sure he'd be willing to help you try out Hawke Junior."

She darted out of Hawke's reach and Hawke chased after her, catching her on the balcony and near-tackling her toward the rail, clamping one large swordsman's hand firmly over her mouth and managing to partly trap the pirate's arms with the other. They stumbled and barely caught their balance, and Isabela could feel the shake of silent laughter against her back. "If you're going to make a nuisance of yourself, I suppose I can find other ways to occupy your mouth," was her stern rebuttal, totally ruined by the rumbling undertone of laughter.

Isabela nipped at Hawke's hand, but Hawke left it there, undeterred. "Though you know, I'm not sure even that would quite remind you of your place."

With a sideways twist of her head, Isabela shook the fingers away from her mouth. "And you have something better in mind?" she said, not quite managing to keep the note of deep interest from her flippant tone.

Hawke purred deep in her throat. "I was thinking maybe I should bend you over the rail and fuck you right here, until you're begging and squealing for your release."

Isabela shuddered in anticipation. "You're not worried about... getting caught?" she asked, doing even worse at sounding nonchalant this time, as Hawke's hands slid around to her hip and the base of her neck and pushed her slowly but inexorably into position.

"Mother will be at the market with Sandal for _hours_ yet," Hawke murmured wickedly, breath hot against the shell of Isabela's ear.

"What about... Bodahn, then? That elf girl?" Hawke toed at her feet, nudging them wider. "One of the maids?"

Hawke stroked her hands down to Isabela's wrists, moving them wider and curling Isabela's fingers beneath hers around the banister. "Ah, sweet Bela. The first trait any noble seeks in a servant is discretion."

Hawke's left hand never left Isabela, trailing possessively along her spine to rest on her lower back, a subtle warning that she was not to move that Isabela knew from experience it would be pointless to test. A thrill shot down her spine, and Hawke's right hand reached under her shirt to pull down her smallclothes. Isabela stepped out of them and settled back, leaving her legs spread a little wider than Hawke had put them and shooting a cheeky smirk over her shoulder. Hawke grinned, but she pushed just a little against Isabela's spine in reminder and Isabela looked back out over the main hall, still smirking.

There was a rustle behind her as Hawke pulled her cock out through her fly and then the hand on her back lowered to move the tails of her shirt out of the way, and she heard Hawke's low chuckle to find her already flushed and wet. Isabela wiggled impatiently, and Hawke acquiesced, impaling her with a single clean thrust.

Isabela purred. Most everything about Hawke was big -- big hands, big laugh, big sword, big dreams -- her breasts were a little shy of average, actually, but they worked for her, and anyway it seemed they were the exception, because Hawke's cock was perfectly in pattern, just as long and thick as she'd guessed from its outline against fabric, and Isabela felt herself stretch around it, already pleasantly full.

" _Maker_ , Bela," murmured Hawke behind her. "So hot. So _tight._ "

Isabela grinned wickedly and squeezed down around her, just a little, enough to make Hawke's breath catch, provoking her to start to move. Out she slid, slow, _so slow_ , that thick head catching every soft sensitive ridge of skin on the way down, then just as her tip reached the tight ring of her entrance Hawke reversed course and slid right back in, not even a single iota faster, like every second was a marvel and last quarter-inch was a new sensation to treasure. The wet, filthy sound of skin against slick and the short, restrained pants of Hawke's breath rung loud off the ceiling, and Isabela, aroused beyond reason and no less impatient, tried to thrust back.

Hawke's hands on her hips were like steel bars. She might as well have been trying to uproot Hightown, and Hawke chuckled behind her, smug and content, beginning another slow thrust out and back.

"You're such a sodding _tease_ , Hawke, hurry up and _take_ me already!"

A hum of low pleasure was all the response she got, and Hawke continued her lazy, leisurely thrusts, a slow wet slide as she sheathed herself to the hilt and then pulled back to just that first intruding tip, her velvet girth filling Isabela completely and drawing slow hot friction down every inner wall with every push. Isabela could feel the pressure build just to the edge of need with every deep stroke, then dancing away as Hawke withdrew herself. She drew one hand off the banister, about to reach back and hurry things along, when Hawke surged forward, cock plowing deep and her hands wrapping around Isabela's, a noise halfway between a laugh and a growl ripping from her throat.

"I didn't say you could move," she rumbled in Isabela's ear, her voice layered with that same combination of delighted and feral. Her weight pressed down over Isabela's back, her hands trapping Isabela's against the rail, she began to move in earnest, pounding thick and fast into her slick sheath, the pressure building firecely now, a constant liquid heat in her core that demanded to be filled, pressed, _plundered_ , and with their hands twined on the banister like this she would never find release. Hawke could keep her like this for hours, panting, desperate, free to thrash and surge back with her wildly rocking hips, shivering around Hawke's never-quite-enough intrusion into her body.

"Hawke," she begged, and Hawke just drove harder, made the trembling clenching _need_ that much stronger, made words and thought complex and hard to reach. " _Please_."

"Wait. Your. _Turn_ ," growled Hawke between pants, letting more and more of her weight rest on Isabela and pressing her into the banister rail, and then finally with a last furious stroke and a groan that shook the chandelier, Isabela felt her spend, cock pulsing inside her as hot seed spilled spilled from its tip. Hawke went unsteady on her feet and slipped out an inch or so, her spend and Isabela's slick pooling wet around her softening cock, and Hawke let one hand go and breathed shaky in Isabela's ear. "Touch yourself."

Keyed up and half-mad with lust, Isabela took less than two strokes against her clit to follow Hawke over the edge, clutching and bucking around Hawke until she was near buried again.

"Maker's breath," said Isabela when she finally got her own back, and Hawke took a weak step back and sideways, leaned her forearms against the rail next to her, dropped her head, and gave a breathy laugh. Isabela shook herself. "So what's it like?"

Hawke rubbed her forehead and furrowed her brow. ".... fast," she finally tried. "I was picturing spider carcasses and Carver's breakfasts and every gross unsexy thing I could think of, and I still almost lost it the first second I was inside you."

The words sent a pleasant shiver down Isabela's spine, and she reached over and unthreaded Hawke's belt. Hawke made no comment, just offered Isabela a curious look as she tilted her hips slightly to allow better access.

"Sit down and lean back," was all the pirate said, giving Hawke a wicked smile. "I have an idea."

Hawke flopped down obediently with a curious smile, which turned knowing and anticipatory when Isabela pulled her hands behind her back, binding them tight to the vertical struts of the banister with firm knots.

"Don't trust me?" she taunted, grin wide and bright.

"We can't all just pin people to the wall with sheer manly strength, my dear Ferelden brute."

Hawke laughed, and Isabela stepped in front of her, straddling her outstretched legs and pulling her tunic over her head. "Now, you made quite a mess just now. Why don't you be a good little Hawke and clean it all up."

"Aye aye, _Captain_ ," said Hawke with an insolent smirk, but she leaned forward with a good will and stroked her tongue up the wet inside of Isabela's thigh.

Isabela allowed herself a groan of satisfaction, and brought her hands back to the banister railing, this time to steady herself as Hawke's tongue swept along her skin, licking along the upper edge of her boots and tracing a path along every still-slick inch of her legs. She was slow and thorough, working her way a handsbreath up one leg, then the other, then a little higher, warm and electric against Isabela's skin, until by the time she actually reached her ultimate goal Isabela was dripping again. Hawke stroked her tongue through the slick and looked up with a smirk, and Isabela let go of the rail to grab Hawke's hair and pull her head back in.

The angle wasn't perfect, but Isabela was still swollen and sensitive and Hawke was an absolute artist. She worked fast this time, an apology for making Isabela wait earlier, and used every dirty trick she knew about Isabela's body; the way the faint careful drag of teeth along her outer lips made her squirm, the way a hot line of air across her entrance made her clench and shudder, the way a tongue rolled around her clit and rocked drove her breath fast and hard and her voice high.

Isabela tried to hold out, but the brush of Hawke's tongue running sweet along her hood, and the light pressure of Hawke's lips smoothing and curling to create that brief, perfect suction, drove Isabela to shuddering release, crying Hawke's name and rocking forward against her mouth as tight fire rolled through her core.

Hawke looked up at her with a smug grin, not the least bit perturbed by her mussed hair, bound hands, or the slick all over her face. Isabela shook her head, smiling, and crouched down beside her, running one finger along Hawke's still-flaccid cock. It twitched under her touch and Hawke shuddered.

Isabela unbuttoned Hawke's fly, spreading the fabric to get a better look. The magic pants apparently knew what they were doing; it was a perfectly normal cock, healthy and faintly veined, a little on the large side and shiny with slick and come, nestled in a thatch of dark hair against a perfectly normal pair of balls. Hawke's legs had shifted toward the masculine as well; Isabela could see the edges of her thighs where normal fit female muscle definition had turned deep and sharp. Hawke shifted a bit under the scrutiny, uncomfortably, and Isabela glanced up to see her dubiously eyeing her new equipment.

 _Still?_ thought Isabela with an internal pout. Well, she could fix that.

She lifted Hawke's hips a bit to slide the pants off them. For a very brief moment she worried that that might end the transformation, before realizing that was obviously the first thing Hawke would have tried, and sure enough the mercenary remained every bit as dangly with her pants around her ankles. It was a fight to get her boots off -- apparently her feet were bigger too -- and Hawke laughed at her, offering no help whatsoever.

Her laughter stopped quite abruptly when Isabela palmed her cock, slow strokes made easy by the wet from their first bout, rolling her thumb down the cleft of the head with each pull, cupping Hawke's balls with her other hand and letting her nails trail along the skin there, not enough to scratch, just enough to leave sensation.

"Andraste," breathed Hawke, as she came slowly back to life in Isabela's hands, swelling and darkening into a long proud curve pointing up from her body.

Satisfied that Hawke was properly firm again, Isabela stood up and stepped back.

"Bela...?" queried Hawke curiously.

Isabela smirked, turned around, and sauntered down the hallway.

"Oh, come _on_!"

She heard her own merry laugh vibrate down the hall as she went. The Hawke mansion was vast and full of stairs, and it was near a five-minute walk from the front door to Hawke's bedroom. Isabela took her time.

There was a servant in Hawke's room, one of the mercenary's young Ferelden hires, and she jumped and flamed red at the sight of a bosomy sex-scented pirate walking through the door wearing nothing but a headscarf and a pair of boots. Isabela offered her a cheery wave.

"Don't mind me, sweet thing, just here to fetch something for your boss."

"Of course," stammered the young woman, and went right back to turning down the bed, ears flaming, as Isabela grinned widely and rummaged through Hawke's third drawer. Selecting a favorite -- a long thin toy bound with textured leather -- she flipped it around her hand like she was twirling a dagger as she sauntered all the way back.

Hawke glared petulantly as she came into view.

"Aw, don't pout, little soldier. Look what I brought for you," she said, waving the toy, and then standing over Hawke, just out of reach, she drew it along her soaking slit.

"Well now you're just being _mean_ ," complained Hawke, shoulders shifting as she fought with the belt around her wrists.

"You think so?" teased Isabela, rubbing against the toy, letting herself savor the slight rough scrape of each stroke past her clit.

" _Yes_ ," was Hawke's aggravated response, as she squirmed where she sat, bringing one leg up in an adorably clumsy gambit to generate friction with her thigh.

Satisfied that the toy was thoroughly lubricated, Isabela dropped to her knees between Hawke's. "I think I'm about to be quite nice, actually," she said, and spread Hawke's cheeks with one hand.

Hawke's eyes went comically wide. "Hey, now, Bela, wait just a se-- oh. _Oh_ ," she managed, as the toy slid past her puckered entrance and sank home. "That's -- different."

Isabela smirked, and then dropped her mouth around Hawke. Working the toy slowly in Hawke's body with her right hand, she wrapped her left around the root of Hawke's cock as she sucked the tip, tongue flicking at the cleft as she tasted the salty sweat-come-slick there, and Hawke thrashed under her, moaning a long, needy " _Bela_."

Isabela worked her, hot thrusting skin under her fingers and lips, and listened as Hawke's cries came faster and more incoherent, closer and closer to climax, and just a few strokes shy, she stilled, sliding her mouth off Hawke with a wet pop. Eyes locked on Hawke's, a predatory smile on her face that did nothing to dispel the cross-eyed haze on her lover's, she moved forward to straddle Hawke's waist, aimed Hawke's eager shaft with the careful press of her fingers, and lowered herself until she sank around it.

It was every bit as deliciously snug a fit as before, and Hawke surged up immediately, but she had almost no leverage at all with her hands strapped down awkwardly behind her, and Isabela merely smirked down at her and rocked forward at her own leisurely pace. She snaked her hands beneath Hawke's shirt, pushing it up her torso with slow strokes and eventually cupping her hands around Hawke's waiting breasts, fingers playing at the hard pebbled points of her nipples.

"Maker, _yes_ ," groaned Hawke, eyes shuttering closed as she leaned her head back and made another involuntary thrust of her hips, and Isabela rolled forward again, pulling Hawke's cock against her inner walls with the motion, shifting the toy within Hawke, and letting her own nipples brush Hawke's skin as she swallowed the mercenary's next desperate breathy moan into a demanding kiss.

Isabela rolled back, savoring the friction of Hawke's cock thick inside her and Hawke's taut stomach against her clit, and Hawke moaned in dismay as she took her hands off her nipples, then again in delight as Isabela rocked forward again to wrap her mouth around one. She chanced a mild pinch of the other and Hawke jerked, hilting herself as her hips thrust in reaction, breath coming tight and fast.

Isabela chuckled and stretched upright. "Look at me, Hawke," she admonished, and Hawke pried her eyes open with obvious difficulty, watching Isabela slide her hands down her own throat, brush her breasts and tease at her nipples as she passed, then slide down, her left finding her own clit and her right dipping behind her to grasp the toy still buried in Hawke.

Isabela lifted herself off Hawke just an inch, then sank back down, seeking that hard tight pressure, and matched it with fierce strokes against her clit, driving herself forward, using Hawke like just another toy as she worked the one in her other hand to drive her lover's thrusts.

"Bela -- I -- Maker --"

" _Yes_ ," howled Isabela as the pressure finally burst, and she came, clenching around Hawke, and it was that rippling vice around her cock that finally drove Hawke over the edge as well, surging up, spurting hot seed deep in her core as Isabela's greedy pulsing body milked her.

Hawke was the first to speak, still panting wildly. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay. I'm starting to see the appeal."

Isabela flopped forward to lay comfortably against her lover's chest. "So does that mean you're keeping the pants?"

Her face was tucked against Hawke's neck, but she could _hear_ the shit-eating grin in her voice when the mercenary responded, "Actually, I was thinking I'd give them to Aveline."


End file.
